


Throw Off Your Shackles

by catawhumpus (ironmermaidens)



Series: Crown AU [9]
Category: Hermitcraft
Genre: Gen, Haircuts, Non-Consensual Body Modification, hc crown au, references to past sexual abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-17 22:27:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29599656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ironmermaidens/pseuds/catawhumpus
Summary: Hels gives Evil X a haircut.
Series: Crown AU [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2000731
Comments: 10
Kudos: 26





	Throw Off Your Shackles

**Author's Note:**

> At time of posting, takes place between Sweat It Out and I'll put you in your place.

Evil X watches nervously as the rebellion's leader digs through bureau drawers, silent save for the rustling of papers and quills and other junk. He's sat on a plain, wooden stool in the middle of the man's quarters, where he had been directed after a few hours spent in each other's quiet company. 

Xisuma always left him with Hels whenever he had business to attend elsewhere. Privately, he was glad for it. He didn't know what he would do with himself if he was left entirely alone in this strange place, with no one to direct him. He hardly knew how to conduct himself here, a space so similar and yet so different from the King's Castle. He thought it safest to make himself as small as possible, wait for some order from his new King, some indication of what the man wanted from him. Now, as he watches Hels pull a pair of scissors from the third drawer he's dug through, he begins to regret the choice.

Maybe he would have been better off settling himself between the other's legs, freeing his cock from his trousers to be warmed on his tongue. That had been a favorite of his King. 

Hels closes the drawer and straightens up. Evil X mimics the gesture, shoulders back and chin up as Hels turns to him, evaluating him, though for what Evil X is unsure. He meets Hels's eyes, watches Hels watch him, and out of the corner of his eyes he sees the scissors tap against his leg, slow and methodical in thought. Every tap of the scissors against thigh makes Evil X's heart beat harder against his ribs. It nearly beats its way out of his chest entirely when Hels finally stops thinking and approaches him. He swallows down a lump in his throat when Hels moves behind him, out of sight. 

The light thump of boot on carpet stops, and Evil X is left in dreadful silence. His hands had been folded neatly in his lap, but they shake now with little tremors, all of him shakes, and he moves to press his nails into the wood of the stool to ground himself. He takes a deep breath, but it comes out in a shuddery stutter as quickly as he takes it.

"Are you afraid of me?" Hels asks. Evil X nearly whimpers at the question. It felt more like a threat.

"Yes, sir," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. He's not sure he can make his vocal cords cooperate to be any louder. He wonders what kind of punishment he will receive if he can't speak up. His fingernails ache with pressure. 

Hels hums. He sounds just like the King. Had he ever really left the Castle? Was this reality, or another nightmare? 

"I'm not going to hurt you, Evil Xisuma."

But the King never called him that, and it sent his head careening every time he heard it said, spoken by that familiar and yet entirely unfamiliar voice. It makes his cheeks flush to hear his own name, not Consort or Prince or Pet, but Evil Xisuma. _Evil Xisuma._ That was his name. That was who he was. Who he is. Who he could be. Every time he hears it said aloud, he wants to beg to hear it again and again. He likes the way it sounds out of Hels's mouth the most. 

Evil X says, "Yes, sir," because his lips were too unused to wrapping themselves around the sounds of any other words. 

He feels finger combing through his hair, tugging against the little tangles he’d missed when brushing it out that morning. They move through the strands of honey brown gently, so gently it makes his belly flutter pleasantly. He feels Hels gather his hair off his shoulders and pull it back. Then he separates a handful from the bunch. He pulls it taut against Evil X’s head, not enough to hurt, but enough that Evil X’s breath catches nervously. He feels the press of the scissor blades to his hair. He feels it as they bite through his hair. He feels the lightness left behind when the long locks fall away. 

His heart becomes arrested in his chest as his mind processes what has just occurred. He was not allowed. Surely he should tell Hels to stop. His King would be enraged to find he’d disobeyed his orders.

But it had not been ordered, had it? He feels Hels parting another handful of hair to be trimmed away, and opens his mouth to protest even as he reminds himself he is not beholden to the desires of the King any longer. Slowly, his heart begins to beat again. He feels the scissor blades close around another lock of hair, and the weight on his shoulders is lifted ever so much more by it. 

The sound of the scissors snipping away the shackles of his hair soothes him as much as it scares him. He shakes half in anxiety, half anticipation. His fingernails creak against the wood of the stool, until Hels murmurs a soft reassurance, and he forces his fingers to relax. He almost feels naked without the curtains of hair falling around his shoulders. How long had it been since he’d last felt the chill of the air against his bare neck?

Hels reappears before him, his eyes staring critically at his work, critically at Evil X, and Evil X can’t help but squirm as if he has done something wrong by allowing Hels to cut his hair. 

He had. He hadn’t. Hels taps the scissors against his thigh again as he once more evaluates Evil X. Hels lets out a breath, and finally he says, “Well, it’s hardly my area of expertise, but I think it’s passable.”

He turns to the dresser behind him and pulls a plain looking hand mirror from its surface, and offers it to Evil X, who takes it in shaking hands.

He hesitates. He has no idea what he will see when he holds the mirror up. Who will he see staring back? Slowly, he lifts the mirror until it’s eye level with himself.

His hair is sheared into a crude bob, the uneven ends stopping somewhere between his cheekbones and his chin. His bangs sit at length just below his eyebrows, nearly brushing his lashes in places, just as choppy as every other part of the cut. It looks godawful, as if a blind man had taken garden shears to his head in the middle of a raging hurricane. He feels tears well in his eyes at the sight.

“What do you think?” Hels asks, and it’s the first time Evil X detects something other than cold confidence in his voice.

He continues stares into the mirror, unable to pull his eyes away even as his vision begins to blur with pooling tears. It’s the first time in years that he looks in the mirror and sees himself. Not Xisuma. Not the Consort. Evil X.

“It’s perfect,” he croaks.


End file.
